


Have You Heard (There's a Rumor in St. Petersburg)

by winderah145



Category: Anastasia (1997), Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-05-24 16:14:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6159321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winderah145/pseuds/winderah145
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A crossover between Once Upon A Time and Anastasia (1997 Animated Film). Mainly Captain Swan/Lieutenant Duckling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all!! So this will be a crossover between Once and Anastasia. I'm mixing up/substituting characters, and will be following the storyline of the Anastasia 1997 film pretty closely, adding some internal dialogue for our protagonists, as well as some Once/CS dialogue that fits in. This is my first go at something not completely original, but I just recently listened to the soundtrack again and re-watched the movie for the millionth time and instantly saw the parallel. And yes, this will be written in present tense, I tried to write in past tense and ended in present so I decided to make the conscience change. I guess as I'm basing this off a movie, it makes sense. As always, I own none of this. Hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Character Notes:  
> Anastasia/Anya=Emmeline/Emma  
> Demetri=Killian  
> Nicholas=David  
> Alexandria=Snow  
> Marie=Ruth  
> Vlad and Sophie are staying their original characters.

_There was a time, not very long ago,_

_When we lived in an enchanted world_

_Of elegant palaces and grand parties._

**1916**

 

The Dowager Empress reaches for an elegant emerald and gold music box from the table, slipping it into her clutch before exiting her house. Her cape and train of her dress slide across the floor and followed her down the steps and into her carriage, where footmen and guards stand at attention awaiting her arrival. Once helped into the carriage, the driver encourages the horses and the carriage takes off.

 

Ruth is on her way to the palace to celebrate the three hundredth anniversary of the Romanoff rule, headed by her son David, the Tzar of Imperial Russia, and his wife Snow, the Tzarina. Ruth is most excited to see her youngest granddaughter, Emmeline. Emmeline is the shining star of the Romanoff girls, her spirited, graceful and effervescent nature lighting up the room. The carriage pulls to a gentle stop and the door opened, another footman offering his assistance getting out of the carriage. Ruth could hear the music from here, and makes her way inside the palace.

 

The room is filled with elegant couples dancing, their clothes and jewels glittering as they moved. At the head of the ballroom were three thrones, one for David, Snow, and Ruth. Ruth heads to hers, waving to her family. “Hello darling!” she calls for Emmeline, catching her attention. Emmeline is dancing with David, her laugh clear and spreading. Ruth watches as David lifts her up and spins her in a circle. The love and affection her son has for his youngest daughter is evident on his face as he effortlessly holds her aloft. Once she is on the floor, Emmeline bounds up the stairs to meet her grandmother. Ruth’s return to Paris was always hard on Emmeline, but Ruth hoped the music box would help Emmeline stay her carefree self. Pulling out the music box, Emmeline gasps. “For me?” she asks, touching the box lightly. “Is it a jewelry box?” Ruth produces a long gold necklace and hands it to Emmeline.

 

“Look,” she says.

 

Behind them, a boy a few years older peers out from around the wall. He’s dressed in clean but dull clothes, a servant. Only a few seconds after he appeared, the chief of staff comes bustling by and grabs the boy’s arm. “Killian, you belong in the kitchens,” he says, and starts to drag the boy away from the party.

 

“Let go of me,” Killian exclaim to no avail. The empress and the princess took no notice of this affair, both engrossed in their music box.

 

Ruth held the end of the necklace, a flower key that matched the box and inserted into slot in the side, cranking it a few times so that the top opened and the small figurines inside spun around. A soft tune started playing from the box. “It plays our lullaby!” Emmeline gasps.

 

“To play it at night when you go to sleep, and you can pretend that it’s me singing,” Ruth says, then hummed along with the lullaby, Emmeline joining in as well. Ruth took the key out of the box and put the necklace on Emmeline over her head. She reaches down and looked at the key closer.

 

“Together in Paris,” she reads from the inscription. “Oh, Grandmama, really?” Emmeline wonders and Ruth nods, pulling her granddaughter into a hug.

 

Their moment is broken by shocked gasps and murmurs from the guests on the ballroom floor, and a silence fell over the room. A lone man was parting his way through the crowd, making a beeline towards David at the front of the room. Rumpelstiltskin, or the Dark One as he was known among the cities and villages, had previously held the spot of advisor for David, influenced by Snow’s heart and capacity to see the good in everyone. He took the spot of advisor and holy man, his advice often winning out over doctors when it came to their youngest son. But he had proven too power-hungry, and his growing unpopularity was so large that even Snow had become disillusioned in him. After refusing requests to stop coming to the palace, David had been forced to banish him to gain the support of St. Petersburg. “How dare you return to the palace?” David asks as Rumpelstiltskin kept advancing.

 

“But I am your confindate,” Rumpelstiltskin says sugary, his high pitched voice resonating in the ballroom. He was dressed in all black, a stark difference to the glittering colors of the gowns surrounding him.

 

“You are a traitor, get out!” David exclaims.

 

“You cannot banish me dearie, I am the Dark One! From the powers given to me, I will be the one to banish you with a curse!” Rumpelstiltskin says, tittering at the end. Emmeline shrinks into Ruth’s side, her eyes wide as she took in the scene before her. As scary as this man was, she didn’t believe him. She remembered her parents banning him from the palace, and now he was talking about a curse? Her papa was the Tzar of all Russia, this man couldn’t threaten him. Her papa was untouchable.

 

Killian’s eyes were as equally wide as he looked at the commotion from his hiding spot behind the wall, having escaped the notice of the chief of staff again. He loved the royal family, the Tzar and Tzarina had taken him and his brother in from the cold streets of St. Petersburg and given them a place to stay and a way to eat, his brother Liam was working in the Tzar’s stables since he was older, but Killian knew other people in the city weren’t as fond of the royal family as he was. He was old enough to know something was going to change soon.

 

“Mark my words, dearie. Within a fortnight, you and your entire family will die. I will not rest until the I see the end of the Romanoff line!!” Rumpelstiltskin raises his hand holding a spherical object that was glowing from the inside out, his name engraved on one side, his reliquary. A bolt of lightning shot out the end and struck the chandelier, causing it to fall to the floor with a crash. He disappears in a swirl of black smoke.

\---

 

Rumpelstiltskin had sold his soul to the unholy powers, the Devil, in order to get magical powers to fulfill his goal of destroying the Romanoff’s like he believed they had destroyed him. After his declaration at the party, he used his minions to fan the seeds of dissent and unhappiness in the city to a raging fire, the minions going so far as to open the gates to allow peasants to storm the castle.

 

\---

 

Emmeline holds onto Ruth’s hand as they followed her family down the hallway, attempting to escape the palace before the dissenters found them. They were all carrying bags with their personal items and clothes, Emmeline had even watched her mother and sisters stitch jewels into the bodice of their dresses for safekeeping. “My music box!” she exclaims, suddenly remembering she had forgotten it in her room. She breaks free of Ruth’s hand and started to turn back.

 

“Emmeline, no! Come back!” Ruth says as she followed her granddaughter back into the palace, closer towards danger. She follows Emmeline back to her bedroom, where she scooped up the music box from its place in her dollhouse. Killian emerges from a servant’s doorway in the wall, watching. “Please hurry Emmeline,” Ruth says as she entered the room and closes the door. Gunshots are heard and Ruth can hear men getting closer to the door.

 

“This way, please! Through the servant’s quarters,” Killian says, letting himself be known to the two females in the room. Ruth hesitates, but hears loud knocking on the door.

 

“Come Emmeline, hurry,” Ruth says, entering the secret hallway. Emmeline rushes to follow and Killian pushes to help her along, in the process knocking her music box to the floor.

 

“My music box!” Emmeline says, reaching for it, but the men are almost through the door.

 

“Go, go!” Killian urges and Ruth grabs her and pulls her down the hallway. Killian closed the door from the inside of the room, just as the dissenters burst through the door.

 

“Men, in here!” the leader of the bunch called and more men file through. “Boy, where are they?” he questions Killian. When Killian remains silent, another dissenter hits him on the head with the butt of his rifle, knocking him to the floor. Killian grabs the music box while the men search the room and leave.

 

\---

 

Ruth and Emmeline run from the exit of the servant’s quarters across the frozen river. Ruth know they must hurry, and set a fast pace for them, regardless of the temperature. “Emmeline, hurry,” she keeps urging, tugging her granddaughter’s hand. Out of nowhere, Rumpelstiltskin appears behind Emmeline.

 

“Grandmama,” she calls out as he grabs the edge of her coat and starts to pull. Ruth looks back.

 

“You!” she calls, and tugs harder on Emmeline. Emmeline falls on the ice and the change in weight caused a crack to appear, running to where Rumpelstiltskin was. As he lunges for her, the ice breaks and he falls in, barely holding on to the edge of the ice, scrambling for purchase. Ruth help Emmeline up and they continue running across the ice.

 

\---

 

The train station is a giant mess of people attempting to escape the city, everyone running around trying to find family and catch trains. Ruth pushes through people, still pulling Emmeline behind her. If only they can get out of the city, she knows they’ll be safe in Paris. They just need to get on that train. People are on the back of the train reaching for Ruth and Emmeline as they near the train. “Hurry, hurry,” Ruth calls back to Emmeline and runs fast enough to be caught up by the people on the train, letting go of her granddaughter in the process. Emmeline runs as fast as she can, trying to catch up. She doesn’t quite understand what’s going on, but her grandmama is on that train and she knows she needs to stay with her. Ruth reaches out and barely manages a grasp on Emmeline’s fingers. “Just hold on to my hand,” she says, praying they can get her onto the train. Emmeline keeps running, but the train is moving faster now, and she can’t keep up. Her fingers slip away from Ruth’s, she keeps running for a few more steps, her hand outstretched.

 

“Grandmama!” Emmeline calls out, reaching for Ruth’s hand. Suddenly she’s knocked down to the ground, hitting her head on a rail.

 

“Emmeline!” Ruth calls out, fighting to get off the train, to get back to her granddaughter. The other passengers hold her in, even as she calls out again, “Emmeline!” The train picks up more speed as they exit the platform and Emmeline’s form is lost in the sea of people. Once the train station is out of view, Ruth sags into the seat someone has put her in, utterly defeated.

 

_So many lives were destroyed that night_

_What had always been was now gone forever_

_And my beloved grandchild, I never saw her again_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left kudos! Sorry for the slow update, and the next one might be slow too...going to visit a university that I got accepted into grad school at (EEK!) next week, so I'm not sure how much time I'll have. As always, I do not own Once or Anastasia. Enjoy! :)

_Since the revolution, our lives have been so grey,_

_Thank goodness for the gossip to get us through the day._

_Have you heard, there’s a rumor in St. Petersburg_

_Have you heard, what they’re saying on the street?_

_Although the Tzar did not survive, one daughter may be still alive._

**1926 - 10 years later**

 

St. Petersburg had changed since the revolution 10 years earlier, since the fall of Imperial Russia and the takeover of the Bolsheviks. Everything was regulated, and though the new regime had promised a better way of life, they had yet to deliver. People waited in long lines for food and water, and punched in and out of work every day, day after day. And now, after 10 years of dreary repeated routines, a new rumor was spreading around. Newspapers and whispers were spread from person to person, careful that the soldiers posted didn’t hear. “Have you heard?” a woman murmurs to her friend in line.

 

“Did you hear the news?” another man asks to the man handing him his food.

 

“A rumor, a legend, a mystery that’s part of our history.”

 

“Even though the Tzar did not survive, his youngest daughter might be still alive.”

 

“The princess Emmeline is still alive.”

 

“Her royal grandmama is offering a royal sum to someone who will bring her the princess.”

 

These and similar sentences were being spread around the city in hushed voices, effectively making the news spread like wildfire.

 

\---

 

Killian, now 21, weaves his way through black market opportunists trying to pawn items from the abandoned palace. He’s in his element in the seediest part of the town, as he has made his living producing fake papers like visas and passports, or doing anything else illegal if the requester paid the right fee. He sees his co-worker walk in and whistled for him. “Vlad!” he calls. Vlad, a large, bubbly man pushes through the crowd to find Killian, who takes him upstairs.

 

“Killian, I booked us a theater, we’re on for tomorrow afternoon,” Vlad says, following Killian upstairs.

 

“Great, Vlad, absolutely great! Everything’s going exactly to plan. All we need is the right girl. Just think Vlad, no more forging papers, no more pirating stolen goods. We’ll have three tickets out of here, one for me, one for you, and one for Emmeline! All thanks to this rumor going around. Princess Emmeline will be the one to help us fly the hell out of here!” Killian reaches into his shoulder bag and pulls out the music box. “We’ll find a girl to play the part, teach her what to say. Then we’ll dress her up and take her to Paris. And with this,” he holds up the music box, “imagine the reward her dear old grandmama would pay? Who else could pull it off, but you and me?”

 

“We’ll be rich!” Vlad says, holding out his hand to shake.

 

“We’ll be out!” Killian replies, taking Vlad’s hand in his.

 

“And we’ll give St. Petersburg more to talk about!” they both exclaim before looking behind them and sliding down the snow-covered roof to the ground. They make their way through the city square, now bustling with people talking about the lost princess. All pretense of quiet is lost as groups of gossipers form. Killian and Vlad rush to the streetcar, hopping on as it takes them across the city.

 

\---

 

A large brick building dots the countryside. It’s unkempt, with a leaking roof and crumbling walls, windows stuck open, allowing the cold air inside. In large letters above the door reads ‘ORPHANAGE’, and children are plastered against the windows, waving down at the girl that was walking down the sidewalk.

 

“Good-bye!” Emma calls, waving at her friends, people she considered family. Emma was bundled in donated clothes, too large for her small and petite frame. She walks backwards, followed by a sour woman who keeps trying to push her around.

 

“I got you a job at the fish market,” the woman tells Emma. “You go straight down this path and turn left at the fork in the road…” she gets cut off by Emma.

 

“Bye, good-bye!” Emma keeps calling, looking over her shoulder.

 

“Are you listening?” the woman asks her.

 

“I’m listening Comrade Cora,” Emma says.

 

“You have been a pain in my side since you got here,” Cora gripes, and not for the first time. “Acting all high and mighty like the Queen of Sheba, instead of the no-good orphan you are. And in spite of all that, for the past 10 years, I’ve fed you, clothed you, put a roof over your head…” Emma says the last few words under her breath to herself, having heard this speech a million times. Cora stops and stares at her. “How can you remember all that but not have a clue as to who you are?”

 

“But I do have a clue,” Emma says, pulling out her necklace. Cora grabs the end of it.

 

“Yes, ‘together in Paris.’ So you want to go to Paris to find your family, do you?” Emma nods enthusiastically and Cora laughs. “Oh little Miss Emma, you need to learn your place in life.” She pushes Emma outside the gates. “In life and in line, and be grateful too!” Cora slams the gates shut. “Together in Paris!” Emma can hear her laugh as she walks back to the building. Emma turns and starts down the path covered in snow.

 

“And be grateful too!” She mimics Cora, prompting herself to laugh. “I am grateful, to get away!” she calls out to the empty road and fields around her. She continues walking down the path, not for the first time thinking about how her life could have been if her family hadn’t disappeared. And wondering again about how she doesn’t remember them, doesn’t remember anything from before she was 8 or 9 years old. She remembers wandering around the streets of St. Petersburg, cold and hungry, and how the government had found all the lost children and sent them to various orphanages. And there were a lot of lost children in the wake of the revolution, she was just one of many. Before she knew it, Emma walks almost directly into the sign at the fork in the road. Pointing left read “Fisherman’s Village” and pointing right read “St. Petersburg.” “Go left,” she says, repeating Cora’s instructions. “Well I know what’s to the left. I’ll be Emma the orphan forever. But if I go right…” she trails off, sighing and looking at her necklace. “Whoever gave me this must have loved me,” she says, sitting down in the snow at the base of the sign. “This is crazy, me going to Paris?” Her head and heart were pulling in two different directions. Her head was telling her to go left, take the job and continue life as everyone else did, stuck in line. Her heart, her heart was telling her go to right, to take the chance and to try and get to Paris. Emma groans. “Help,” she calls towards the sky, not really sure who she was praying to. “Send me a hint, a sign, anything.” Emma waits a moment and nothing happened, while she takes off her scarf, warm from the walk from the orphanage. All of a sudden, a small furry head pops out from behind the post and tugs on the scarf. “Hey!” Emma says, jumping up. On further study, she realizes it’s a small dog, possibly even a puppy. He turns around in a circle and barks at her a few times. “I can’t play, I’m waiting for a sign,” she says, as though the dog will understand her. He runs further away, down the path that leads to St. Petersburg, and barks a few more times. “Great, a dog wants me to go to St. Petersburg.” Emma looks up and shrugs. “Okay I can take a hint,” she says, bending down to gather her scarf, now wet from snow.

 

Emma takes a few steps away from the sign, her footprints the only ones in the new snow. She looks back, nervous yet excited about the decision she had made. After a few more steps, she bends and picks up the puppy. She can’t see any other dogs around, or anywhere were they could be. If he was truly alone, Emma was going to take him with her. She continues down the road, praying that she would have enough courage, enough faith in her heart to see this through. Emma knew that she had to have family somewhere, all of her years of dreaming couldn’t be wrong, could they? She must have had a home and loving family at some point, and she just knew she needed to find them again in order to fill that hole inside of her. The road curved at the top of a hill, and Emma goes to the edge, looking over. She sees St. Petersburg beneath her, the tall buildings and domes glittering in the sunlight. Emma was ready to find out who she was.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait!! But here's a super long chapter for you all! This is the first story I've written that I've switched between POV within one chapter, so sorry if it's a little rough and I hope it makes sense. I'm trying to make sure I get in both their thoughts as the story progresses. Again, I own nothing . Any comments are always lovely and welcome, enjoy!!

_Heart don’t fail me now, courage don’t desert me_

_Don’t turn back, now that we’re here._

_People always say life is full of choices,_

_No one ever mentions fear._

**St. Petersburg**

 

Emma waits in line with Pooka in her arms at the ticket distribution counter, feeling more optimistic right now than she has in her entire memory. Once it gets to be her turn, she steps up to the window and lifts her chin. “One ticket to Paris please,” she asks, quite pleased with herself. The man behind the counter is surly and grumpy barely sparing her a second glance.

 

“Exit visa please,” he says in a bored voice, holding his hand out. Emma’s brow furrows in confusion.

 

“Exit visa?” she questions. The man pulls his hand back.

 

“No exit visa, no ticket,” he declares then slams the window shutters shut. Emma sighs, defeated, when someone taps her on the shoulder. She spins around to come face to face with an elderly woman. The woman beckons her closer as they step out of line.

 

“See Killian, he can help you,” the woman whispers into Emma’s ear.

 

“Killian? Where can I find him?” Emma whispers back, looking around for eavesdroppers.

 

“At the old winter palace, but you didn’t hear it from me,” the woman says even more quietly, tapping Emma’s lips with her wrinkled finger. Emma’s eyes widened and she nodded. “Go, go,” the woman says, flapping her arms at Emma and she heads back outside, now on a quest to find the old palace.

 

“Killian,” Emma wonders, trying the new name out on her tongue. Why did it sound vaguely familiar?

\---

 

Killian and Vlad are inside the theater Vlad rented, seated at a small table in front of a small, dingy stage. Scattered on the table are resumes of actress after actress, while in front of Killian is a long parchment, full of names, a roster. All the names have been scribbled out, and the list hangs over the edge of the table and brushes the floor in front of them. There’s two names left on the list, and Killian and Vlad are exhausted after a long day. The second to last actress in on the stage right now, dressed in a red 20’s style drop waist dress. She moves coyly towards Killian, something he’s afraid he’s all too used to. Sure, at the beginning he used his pretty face to get him out of trouble or to get him a favor, but after a while, being only a pretty face got boring. The girl on stage wasn’t even acting, just hoping her own pretty face and flirting would get herself a ticket. Killian groans and scratches out the girl’s name on the list. One to go.

 

“Next!” Vlad calls and the girl pouts off stage. The next, and last contestant saunters on stage, wrapped in a fur coat with a cigarette holder held in her mouth. She was clearly too old for the role of the lost princess.

 

“Grandmama, it’s me,” she starts off in a low, husky voice, and drops the coat in what was a hopefully seductive move at best. She’s wearing a white and blue dress underneath that’s ill-fitting and too young. “Emmeline,” she finishes, bending one leg and arching her back. Killian’s scribbling furiously on the parchment and Vlad can barely get out a ‘thank you,’ before his head hits the table. They cleaned up the table and left the theater, discouraged.

 

“This is it, Killian, game over. Our last kopeck gone to this disgusting theater and still no girl to be Emmeline,” Vlad says as they walk down the steps of the theater to the street.

 

“We’ll find her Vlad. She’s here, right under our noses.” Killian grabs Vlad’s arm and pulls the music box out of his bag. “Don’t forget, we have this. One look and the Empress will think we have the real Emmeline.”

 

Meanwhile, Emma is walking towards them, asking everyone she can for directions to the old winter palace. While most people simply have been ignoring her, she has finally gotten one man to at least pay attention to her.

 

“Excuse me, I’m looking for…” Killian bumps into Emma’s shoulder as she talks to the man in the street. “Excuse me,” she says, somewhat tartly. People should learn to look where they’re going.

 

“And before she knows it, we’ll be off spending the 10 million rubles,” Killian continues talking to Vlad, unaware of the person he just bumped shoulders with.

 

“No, no, there’s nothing there. No one has lived there for years. Forget about going there,” was the man’s answer, and Emma huffed in frustration, walking away.

 

\---

 

Emma had finally gotten directions to the old palace, and walks up the large courtyard covered in snow to the front entrance. The door is boarded up, but that doesn’t stop Pooka from wiggling through a crack. “Pooka!” Emma calls, drumming her slim fingers on the boards. “Pooka, get back here,” she calls again, with no response from her dog. Emma stares at the boards for a moment, then starts pulling. A board comes loose rather quickly and lands Emma on her rear, dust and snow flying around her. She makes her way into the palace and up the rotunda stairs. “Hello? Anyone home?” Emma calls. She starts unwrapping her scarf from her face, no longer needing the protection from the harsh cold outside. She sees an open hallway on the second floor and turns towards it, finding another large room with a long table against the wall, silver plates and bowls covered in connecting spiderwebs on the table. “This place, it’s like a memory from a dream,” she muses out loud to Pooka. She brushes aside the cobwebs and dust from a plate and a vision fills the plate, like a reflection of a memory. She sees a little girl dancing and being lifted up by a man in regal uniform. She blinks, shaken by what she just saw, by what seems like a memory, and moves on. She walks a little further to find a round vase under a mirror, she brushes the vase and sees a mural of horses and bears that look as though they are dancing, one after another in a line. _Dancing bears, painted wings things I almost remember,_ she muses softly, looking around herself before heading down the large staircase. _And a song someone sings, once upon a December._ Emma’s dreams as a young girl were often filled of a lilting lullaby, something she attributed to her forgotten memories. As she walks down, Emma finds herself entering a grand ballroom, with a large frieze of the Romanoff family: the Tzar, Tzarina, the Dowager Empress, all five daughters and one son overlook the ballroom floor. Emma gravitates towards the piece of art, stretching a hand out toward the depiction of what must be a young Emmeline. For whatever reason, she feels a connection with the artwork. For not the first time, she wonders what it would have been like to grown up in a family. _Someone would hold me safe and warm,_ she thinks. If she had grown up here, she would have seen horses prancing through silver-like snow. She shakes her head and turns away, facing the ballroom. Emma peels off her gloves and lets her scarf fall before wondering out to the center of the room, gazing up at the dusty portraits hanging high on the walls.

 

Not seeing anyone else, Emma can’t help but fantasize what this room must have been like when it was full of life, figures dancing so gracefully. Without realizing it, she hums the song that trickles through her dreams. She starts dancing, innately graceful but clumsy at the same time, with invisible partners, twirling herself around the room. The figures from the paintings on the wall descends, their clothes shimmery and ghostlike. She sees her wardrobe transform into a golden glittering gown, complete with a royal blue sash across her torso. Young men take place in her arms, passing Emma from partner to partner, finally spinning her so she faces the front of the room. In her fantasy, the Tzar and his family come to life in her head, interacting with her. The Tzar takes her into his arms and spins her around the ballroom, Emma feeling safe in his arms. He stops and presses a kiss to her forehead, and Emma sinks into a low curtsy, sitting on the ground.

 

“Hey!” a voice shatters her fantasy and Emma gasps, standing up and running towards the steps.

 

\---

 

Killian and Vlad were sitting in their small corner of the palace that they had made into their living quarters, enjoying a relaxing meal after their long day at the theater. A loud sound suddenly echoes through the empty palace, making Killian stand up. “Did you hear that?” Killian asks Vlad, looking around. Vlad shakes his head no, continuing to eat. No one ever bothered them at the palace, barely anyone knew where him and Vlad lived, and those that did knew his operating hours. And knew not to come by afterwards. Suddenly more interested in the mysterious noise than their dinner, Killian convinces Vlad to leave their wing of the palace and investigate. As they headed towards the heart of the palace, the ballroom, Killian could hear a faint humming. He rounds the corner and sees a girl dancing in the giant room, arms out as though imagining partners. At first Killian just stares, utterly transfixed in the scene, not having seen such innocence in quite a while. Vlad catches up to him and startles Killian out of his trance. “Hey!” he calls out, as the girl sink down into quite a graceful curtsey, if he’s being honest with himself. The girl starts and jumps to her feet, running to the stairs on the other side of the room, where he can now see a pair of gloves and a scarf lying on the floor. “What are you doing in here?” Killian calls as he runs down his own flight of stairs, trying to catch up to her.

 

\---

 

Emma runs to get her things, ignoring the call of “What are you doing in here?” She’s moved quite a far distance into the room, she realizes as she bolts for the stairs. “Hey, hey, wait, hold on a minute,” the voice continues and follows her, and eventually she slows, picking up Pooka and turning around to face whoever had interrupted her from a perfectly wonderful daydream. Emma’s eyes widened as she catches sight of the man chasing her. He seems a few years older than her, a mop of dark messy hair, long enough to tuck behind his ears, clean shaven with striking blue eyes stared back at her. He’s wearing clothes that only highlight his good physique, she notes, a cream button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms, a dark green waistcoat vest and a brown tie, all tucked into brown pants that hung on his hips quite nicely. What? She was 18, not blind. Emma has the fleeting sense that she’s seen him before. “Now how did you get in here…” the man asks, trailing off his question as his eyes met hers. Emma finds herself blushing, self-conscious of the overly large clothes she’s wearing from the orphanage.

 

“Excuse me, child,” a second voice says and Emma finds a second man, older carrying most of his weight around his waist and stomach, jogging after trying to catch up. Her eyes drift back to the younger man, and she realizes with a start he’s staring rather intently at her, a slow smile creeping up on his face.

 

\---

 

Killian runs after the girl, calling out to get her to slow down or stop. Finally she does and turns around. “How did you get in he…here…” he has to stop talking as his jaw drops to the floor. The girl, young woman really, stands in front of the frieze of the royal family, next to the artist’s depiction of the princess Emmeline. And this woman, well, there’s something familiar to her that he can’t place, a memory just out of reach, like he’s met her in another life. But aside from that, the resemblance to the princess is striking, as though she truly is a family member, however impossible that sounds. Killian can tell her hair is the color of golden sunlight, although it’s dirty right now and tied into a knot on the top of her head. Her almond shaped eyes are the most striking emerald green he has ever seen, her lips form a natural pout and her chin is long and slender. He can feel Vlad stop next to him and hears him call out to the girl as well, but then Killian is hitting Vlad on the arm, willing Vlad to see the same thing. “Vlad, do you see what I see?” Killian asks in a soft voice.

 

“No,” Vlad answers and Killian rolls his eyes, pulling the glasses off Vlad’s head and onto his nose. Honestly, how this man functioned before Killian caught up to him he’ll never know. “Ahh. Oh yes, yes,” Vlad says, seeing the resemblance as well. Killian walks up the remaining steps and grabs the dog out of the girl’s arms.

 

“Cute, a dog,” he says and deposits the animal into Vlad’s.

 

“Are you Killian?” the girl asks.

 

“Perhaps, depends on who’s looking for him,” Killian answers cockily, his old habit of swagger coming back into his steps. He’s interested to hear what this girl wants.

 

“Well, my name is Emma and I need travel papers,” the girl, Emma, says. “They say you’re the man to see even though I can’t tell you who said that,” she finishes in a low voice, her hand shielding the other side of her mouth as though the ghosts could hear her. Cute.

 

\---

 

Emma watches the two men talk and glance up at her. She shifts and hugs Pooka a little tighter. Men, she thinks disdainfully. Finally, the younger one walks up the stairs. “Cute, a dog,” he says offhandedly and takes Pooka out of her arms and gives it to his friend. Emma’s about to protest but instead goes for the direct question. The sooner she can leave, the better.

 

“Are you Killian?” Emma asks. The man, Killian, smirks and puffs out his chest a little, and starts walking with a little bit more sway in his hips.

 

“Perhaps, depends on who’s looking for him,” he answers smugly and Emma feels the attraction she felt for him being replaced by annoyance and disdain.

 

“Well, my name is Emma and I need travel papers.” All he does is raise is eyebrows. “They say you’re the man to see even though I can’t tell you who said that,” she breathes out, hoping he’ll help her. Killian keeps smirking and starts to circle her, looking her over. Creep. “Hey, hey, why are you circling me? Were you a vulture in another life?” Emma asks, definitely pissed off now. Who does this guy think he is?

 

\---

 

After Emma asks about the papers, a plan starts to formulate in Killian’s head. If the similarities in appearance were so glaringly obvious based off a 10 year old painting, perhaps she could pass by the grandmother, who hasn’t seen her granddaughter in 10 years and who has been getting older each year. Killian smirks at his own brilliance and starts to circle her, eyeing her up, all the while keeping the swagger in his step.

 

“Hey, hey, why are you circling me? Were you a vulture in another life?” Emma bites out and he wants to laugh. They’ve found a little firecracker.

 

“I’m sorry, Emme,” he says, almost saying Emmeline but catching himself.

 

“It’s Emma. Em-ma,” she corrects him, poking at his chest with each syllable as she breaks down her name.

 

“Emma.” Killian concedes. “But it’s just that you do look an awfully lot like,” Killian gestures to the painting behind her and she follows his arm, her face knitting in confusion. “But nevermind. You mention travel passes?” He does indeed stop his circling.

 

“Yes, to Paris,” Emma states. Killian blinks. This was perfect.

 

“You want to go to Paris?” he asks, just to double check that he heard her correctly. She nodded her agreement. Killian manages to catch Vlad’s eyes, giving him a look while he is busy playing with the dog.

 

“Who is this here?” Vlad coos, earning him a lick from Pooka. “Oh, he likes me. Well I love you, yes I do.”

 

“Nice dog,” Killian remarks under his breath to Vlad.

 

“Oh, he’s marvelous,” Vlad continues and Killian rolls his eyes. Great, Vlad was getting attached to the mutt.

 

“Let me ask you something, Emma, was it?” he says, turning his focus back to her. “Is there a last name that goes along with that?”

 

\---

 

 

“I’m sorry, Emme,” Killian says, pronouncing her name wrong. If there’s anything that will annoy Emma, it’s that. Call it possessive or whatever you’d like, but since she only has one name, she’d prefer everyone use it correctly. At least he stopped circling her.

 

“It’s Emma. Em-ma,” she says, interrupting him and breaking it down for him like he’s a child or an idiot. Emma pokes in him the chest as she does, just to get her message across.

 

“Emma,” he repeats, correctly. “But it’s just that you do look an awfully lot like…” Killian trails off and gestures behind her. Emma turns around, following his arm and not realizing at first he’s pointing to the frieze. Then she’s confused. He thinks she looks like one of the princesses? Sure, green eyes and blonde hair they may share, but it’s not like that’s a trait specific to the royal family. Lots of people have green eyes and blonde hair. “But nevermind,” Killian continues. “You mentioned travel passes?” Emma relaxes, glad to be talking about business. The sooner she gets her passes, the sooner she can be on her way to Paris, and away from this person who gets under her skin entirely too much.

 

“Yes, to Paris,” Emma states confidently. Killian just blinks at her for a second and her heart sinks. Did she follow the directions of a madwoman?

 

“You want to go to Paris?” he asks and she rolls her eyes. Is he truly an idiot? She sees Killian look back at Vlad, exchanging a few words back and forth, but she was focused on the painting behind her. “Let me ask you something, Emma, was it?” Killian says, forcing her attention back to him. Unfortunately. “Is there a last name that goes along with that?” He’s probably asking for document purposes, she realizes, but still can’t help the humorless chuckle that escapes her.

 

“You know, this is going to sound crazy, but I don’t remember. I don’t know my last name. I was found lost wandering the streets of St. Petersburg when I was 8 years old,” Emma says, knowing it sounded ridiculous. Who doesn’t know their last name?

 

“And before that, before you were 8?” Killian prods, seemingly very interested in her lack of memories.

 

“Look, I don’t remember. I have very few memories of my childhood,” Emma states firmly, hoping the matter is closed and that it doesn’t impede her getting to Paris. She sees Killian whisper something to Vlad but can’t hear it. “But I do have one clue, and that’s Paris,” she finishes.

 

“Yes, Paris,” Killian repeats, rolling his eyes. God, he was getting more annoying by the second.

 

“Right, so can you two help me or not?”

 

\---

 

“You know, this is going to sound crazy, but I don’t remember. I don’t know my last name. I was found lost wandering the streets of St. Petersburg when I was 8 years old,” Emma says after giving a little self-deprecating chuckle. That’s odd, Killian thinks. Even as a child, who doesn’t know their own last name? Odd, but if she truly had no memories…

 

“And before that, before you were 8?” Killian asks, needing to know where this mysterious girl came from. Because, god was she perfect for them.

 

“Look, I don’t remember. I have very few memories of my childhood,” she says very firmly, stopping the subject matter. Killian has to fight to keep a full smile spreading across his face. In spite of everything that had happened at the theater, they had found a girl that looked exactly like the princess, and they had a reason for the princess not knowing who she was. And this girl had no memories to interfere with what they would tell her about the princess.

 

“Hmm, that’s perfect,” Killian whispers to Vlad, who nods in response.

 

“But I do have one clue, and that’s Paris,” Emma continues and Killian can’t help but roll his eyes. If she has no memories, where did she get Paris from? Out of her presumably delectable derriere?

 

“Yes, Paris,” Killian says.

 

“Right, so can you two help me or not?” Emma asks. Killian smirks, knowing how to get her to help them out without having to give away the reward money.

 

“Hey Vlad, the tickets,” he whispers, holding out his hand and Vlad deposits the tickets into it. “We sure would like to, in fact, oddly enough we’re heading to Paris ourselves.” Killian holds out the tickets for Emma to see. Her reaction is predictable, she wants one of those tickets. Right where we want her, he thinks. “Unfortunately, the third one is for her,” Killian continues, pointing directly to the painting of Emmeline in the frieze. Emma looks down, disappointed. Vlad comes around to Emma’s other side and they link arms, guiding her up the steps.

 

“We are going to reunite the Grand Duchess Emmeline with her grandmother,” Vlad says as they slowly walk up the steps.

 

“You know, you do resemble her,” Killian cuts in.

 

“The same green eyes.”

 

“The Romanoff eyes,” Killian adds.

 

“David’s smile.”

 

“Snow’s chin,” Killian says, turning her face to look at it closer while Vlad grabs her hands.

 

“She even has the grandmother’s hands!” Vlad exclaims to Killian. Emma pulls her hand away.

 

“She’s the same age, the same physical type,” Killian starts but Emma cuts him off, seemingly annoyed by this whole thing.

 

“Are you trying to tell me that you think I’m Emmeline?” she asks incredulously.

 

\---

 

Emma watches as they pass tickets between them, her fingers itching for one. “We sure would like to, in fact, oddly enough we’re heading to Paris ourselves,” Killian says, fanning the tickets out in front of her. They would like to help? That doesn’t mean the same thing as they will help her. Still, she can’t help but stay excited, hopeful. “Unfortunately, the third one is for her,” Killian continues, and he points behind her. Emma turns to find herself looking at the frieze of the royal family again and her stomach drops. He was crazy, and he wasn’t going to help her. The other man, she hasn’t been able to catch his name, walks around to her other side, still holding Pooka and they both link arms with her, guiding her back up the steps.

 

“We are going to reunite the Grand Duchess Emmeline with her grandmother,” the other man says, kindly. Emma immediately likes him better than Killian.

 

“You know, you do resemble her,” Killian cuts in and Emma can’t but be annoyed by him.

 

“The same green eyes.” They start interrupting each other, making her head bounce back and forth.

 

“The Romanoff eyes,” Killian adds.

 

“David’s smile.”

 

“Snow’s chin.” At this, Killian grabs her chin lightly and angles her face towards him. The other man takes her hand and extends it in front of her.

 

“She even has the grandmother’s hands!” he says excitedly. Emma pulls her hand away and jerks free of Killian’s hold, tired of being talked about as though she wasn’t even there.

 

“Are you trying to tell me that you think I’m Emmeline?” Emma asks, cutting in. She’s starting to wish she had never come to this stupid palace, with its paintings and its dream-like memories. They both nod slowly and direct her attention to a second painting, this one of just the young girl and an older woman. The grandmother.

 

“All I'm trying to tell you is that I've seen thousands of girls all over the country and not one of them looks as much like the Grand Duchess as you do. I mean look at the portrait,” Killian says. Emma does for a second then can’t believe she even entertained the notion.

 

“I knew you were crazy from the beginning,” Emma says, addressing Killian, “but now I think you are both mad.” She walks away from the painting and they hurry to catch up with her.

 

“Why? You don’t remember what happened to you,” Killian says, reaching for her elbow.

 

“No one knows what happened to her,” the other man interjects in a convincing voice.

 

“You’re looking for family in Paris,” Killian cuts in. Great, they’re back to talking over each other, back and forth.

 

“And her only family is in Paris.”

 

“Have you ever thought about the possibility?” Killian asks. Somehow they have managed to steer her back to in front of the painting.

 

“What, that I could be royalty?” Emma scoffs. They both hum and nod again. “Well, I don’t know, it’s hard to imagine yourself as a Duchess when you’re sleeping on a damp floor. But sure, I guess every little lonely girl hopes she’s a princess,” Emma trails off softly, looking at the painting. She remembers her childhood growing up in the orphanage, fighting for food and warm clothes. That’s who she is. She’s a lost girl, an orphan. But, what if it wasn’t always that way? Emma’s lost in thought, and she doesn’t see Killian start to walk away.

 

“And somewhere, one little girl is,” the other man whispered in her ear.

 

\---

 

Killian has steered her towards a second painting of Ruth and Emmeline. “All I'm trying to tell you is that I've seen thousands of girls all over the country and not one of them looks as much like the Grand Duchess as you do. I mean look at the portrait,” Killian says, trying to persuade Emma to go along with their plan by showing her another painting. From the look on her face, he wasn’t doing a good job.

 

“I knew you were crazy from the beginning,” Emma says, starting to walk away, “but now I think you are both mad.” She throws her hands up in the air and Pooka whines in Vlad’s arms. Killian chases after her, managing to snag her elbow.

 

“Why? You don’t remember what happened to you,” he says, going for a persuasive tone. He manages to stop Emma. They need this girl for their plan. She’s their last and best chance.

 

“No one knows what happened to her,” Vlad says, grabbing her other arm and placing her in front of the painting again.

 

“You’re looking for family in Paris,” Killian cuts in, needing her to be persuaded.

 

“And her only family is in Paris,” Vlad supplies, finishing Killian’s train of thought.

 

“Have you ever thought about the possibility?” Killian asks, trying to planting the seed in her mind. Emma rolls her eyes, shifting her weight back and forth.

 

“What, that I could be royalty?” Emma scoffs. Killian nods, nudging Vlad to do the same. Emma tilts her head, studying the painting closer. “Well, I don’t know, it’s hard to imagine yourself as a Duchess when you’re sleeping on a damp floor. But sure, I guess every little lonely girl hopes she’s a princess,” she finishes softly. Killian’s heart goes out to her, he recognizes a lost girl when he sees one. Even though he had Liam growing up in the castle, it was only them, and once Liam fought back against the Bolsheviks and consequently had to flee the country, it was just Killian making his way in St. Petersburg. Emma had obviously grown up alone. Even still, they had a plan that would make him and Vlad enough money that he can retire somewhere warm with beautiful women. He can't afford to get attached. Killian starts walking away, knowing that they can’t convince her anymore.

 

And somewhere, one little girl is,” Vlad says softly to Emma, making Killian sigh. “After all, the name Emmeline means ‘she will rise again’.” Killian walks back, takes the dog out of Vlad’s arms and puts him on the ground and pulls Vlad away from the girl, effectively interrupting him.

 

“Really wish we could help,” Killian calls over to Emma, walking Vlad towards the stairs. He almost does wish they could help her, but he had his own life to worry about. “But the third ticket is for the Grand Duchess Emmeline.” He hears Emma sigh. “Good luck!” Killian finishes, walking himself and Vlad down the stairs back towards the ballroom.

 

“Why did you tell her of our brilliant plan?” Vlad asks. Killian internally sighs, Vlad didn’t get everything right away.

 

“All she wants to do is to get to Paris, why give away a third of the reward money?” Killian argues.

 

“I’m telling you, we’re walking away too soon,” Vlad argues back. He sees the appeal of this girl too, knows that she could convince the Empress. They get to the landing and Killian checks his watch. He was confident this would work, but he also wasn’t going to spend all day waiting on her.

 

“Not to worry, I’ve got it under control,” Killian says softly. He was hoping, banking on the method of letting her come around to their side on her own. They’d planted the seed, and if he had played his cards right, Emma would see this is the way for her to get to Paris. “All right, walk a little slower,” Killian whispers, placing a hand on Vlad’s stomach to slow him down. They needed to give her enough time to think, but they couldn’t get too far away that she thinks that her shot was gone. “And three…two…one,” Killian counts down, holding up his fingers and dropping each one with a flare.

 

“Killian!” They hear Emma calling, along with her footsteps echoing. Killian brings his arm down in a triumphant gesture. His gamble had played off.

 

“Right in the palm of our hand!” Vlad says, finally understanding as they stopped walking.

 

“Killian, wait!”

 

\---

 

 

“After all, the name Emmeline means ‘she will rise again’,” the other man, Emma thinks his name is something like Vlad, continues in her ear as they both stare at the painting. “Really wish we could help,” Killian pops his head in between her and Vlad, pulling him away and setting Pooka on the floor. “But the third ticket is for the Grand Duchess Emmeline, good luck!” Emma barely hears them go down the stairs, all of her focus on the painting in front of her. The princess, staring out as though she’s bored to be holding still, and the grandmother, looking down at her with such affection. What she would have given to have grown up knowing that kind of love. Emma reaches out to the painting, barely touching the hem of the princess’s dress before drawing back, looking up with a tilted head. She knew her loss of memories had coincided with the bloody Bolsheviks takeover, what she had never asked was why she had no memories. Trauma? A blow to the skull? But why would an average young girl receive the attention that would cause those? And a child from the working class of Russia wouldn’t have feared being separated from her family. The lullaby rings through Emma’s head again. Why did this palace and everything in it make her feel at home? Why was she constantly having a sense of deja-vu? She holds up her necklace and stares at it hard. It was beautiful, she had often gotten into fights at the orphanage from other kids trying to steal it. But why would a normal girl have this fancy of a necklace? And the inscription, ‘Together in Paris’. All of it added up to too many coincidences. Did Emma think she was the princess? Well, she would never admit it to Killian, but she definitely could see it as a possibility. And if she’s wrong, well the empress would certainly know, and she would have gotten herself to Paris. Emma spins around, opening to tell Killian she’ll go along with it when she doesn’t see him.

 

“Killian!” Emma calls, rushing back towards the steps leading to the ballroom. “Killian wait!” She runs down the steps and sees them a little bit into the main room, slowing and them stopping.

 

“Did you call me?” Killian asks innocently, turning to face her. Bastard probably tried to plan this, Emma things, and then surprises herself by not caring.

 

“If I don’t remember who I am, who’s to say I’m not a princess or a duchess or whatever she is, right?” Emma starts laying her thoughts to him as she pauses on the landing.

 

“Hmm, go on,” Killian says as him and Vlad start walking towards her. She walks down the remaining steps to meet them.

 

“And, and if I’m not Emmeline, the Empress will certainly know, and it will all seem like an honest mistake,” she continues.

 

“Sounds plausible,” Killian partially agrees.

 

“But if you are the princess, then you will finally know who you are and you’ll have your family back,” Vlad finishes for her, saying the sentence she didn’t want to say out loud. Family. She could have a family at the end of this. Killian chuckles.

 

“You know, he’s right. Either way it gets you to Paris!” Killian says.

 

“Right!” Emma replies, holding out her hand for a shake. Killian obliges, shaking her hand a few times before pulling it closer to him and pressing a kiss to the top of her hand. They maintain eye contact as they do and a spark seems to fly between them, spreading warmth throughout her body. Emma breathes faster, her heart stuttering. She blushes and pulls her hand away.

 

\---

 

“Did you call me?” Killian asks, shooting for coy and innocent, as he slowly turns around to face Emma. She’s gotten excited, her green eyes bright.

 

“If I don’t remember who I am, who’s to say I’m not a princess or a duchess or whatever she is, right?” Emma starts saying. Killian fights to hide his smirk. Right in the palm of their hands indeed.

 

“Hmm, go on,” he plays along with allowing her to tell them the plan.

 

“And, and if I’m not Emmeline, the empress will certainly know, and it will all seem like an honest mistake,” she finishes. Oh how she doesn’t know that that outcome won’t happen. They’ll fill her head with everything Emma would ever need to know and more to become Emmeline.

 

“Sounds plausible,” Killian says when he realizes that Emma’s looking at him, waiting for a response.

 

“But if you are the princess, then you will finally know who you are and you’ll have your family back,” Vlad adds on and Killian laughs to avoid rolling his eyes. Vlad, the ever romantic. He supposes that being on the imperial court, even 10 years ago, leaves certain habits.

 

“You know, he’s right. Either way it gets you to Paris!” he says, needing her to agree. Emma holds out her hand, intending to shake on it to seal the deal.

 

“Right!” she agrees and Killian matches her hand with his own. They shake hands a few times and before he knows what he’s doing, Killian’s bringing Emma’s hand closer to kiss to the top of it. Her skin is soft under his lips, and he suddenly aches to know what her lips would feel like pressed against his. A spark jumps between them and she manages to keep eye contact with him for a moment longer, her green eyes widening in shock and something else. A pretty blush spreads over her cheeks and she pulls away. Killian steps back, unsure of what just happened, but trying to avoid Vlad’s knowing gaze. His right hand reaches up to scratch behind his ear, a nervous tick that he'd since a boy but always tried to cover up. In that moment, he feels more like his own age than he has in a long time. Killian clears his throat to slip his mask back on.

 

“May I present her Royal Highness, the Grand Duchess Emmeline,” he announces to the empty room. Killian and Vlad mock bow to her, while she laughs and twirls before dipping into a small curtsy.

 

“Pooka, we are going to Paris,” Emma says, picking up her little mutt and holding him up in the air. Oh no, that was not going to happen.

 

“The dog stays,” Killian cuts in, trying to sound firm. He was not going to deal with a stupid dog who growled near him.

 

“What are you talking about, of course the dog goes,” Emma shoots back, and as much as he is annoyed, Killian does indeed admire her stubbornness and tenacity.

 

“The dog does not go,” he repeats, mainly to get a rise out of her, something that was quickly becoming one of his favorite pastimes.

 

“I say he’s going,” Emma holds out and Killian has to fight to hold back a smile.

 

“I’m allergic to dogs,” he argues. A lie, but she doesn’t need to know that. “Just leave the dog.” Emma’s head shot up and she glared at him. Okay, subject of leaving is a touchy one at that.

 

“I’m not leaving the dog,” she snaps.

 

“Come we’ve got a train to catch,” Vlad interjects. Emma shoots him another look, and oh if looks could kill, before rushing to catch up to Vlad, who she had seemed to take a better liking to. If this was what got them their reward money, then so be it, he’d endured worst.

 

\---

 

“May I present her Royal Highness, the Grand Duchess Emmeline,” Killian announced before him and Vlad bowed, causing Emma to laugh and turn before dipping into a curtsy herself. Anything to take her mind off of what had just happened between them. She was not going to think about that, never. Killian was an arrogant, insufferable idiot and she was not going to be attracted to him.

 

“Pooka, we are going to Paris,” Emma says gleefully, bending down to pick him up and lift him in the air.

 

“The dog stays,” Killian argues, not looking happy about the prospect of dealing with the dog. Well the fact that it was going to annoy him is just an added bonus.

 

“What are you talking about, of course the dog goes,” Emma argues back as they start to leave the ballroom.

 

“The dog does not go,” Killian presses. Emma rolls her eyes and holds back a smile. Fighting with him was way too enjoyable.

 

“I say he’s going,” she fights back.

 

“I’m allergic to dogs,” Killian says, a lie if she ever heard one. Eventually she should tell him she can tell when people are lying or not. “Just leave the dog.” Emma tenses and glares at Killian. She is not going leave Pooka, she’s not going to abandon her dog like she was abandoned and for him to suggest such a thing.

 

“I’m not leaving the dog,” Emma snaps back, restraining the urge to punch him.

 

Come, we’ve got a train to catch,” Vlad interrupts them and Emma’s glad. She glares at Killian one more time and rushes to catch up to Vlad. She likes Vlad. Vlad’s nice to her and likes Pooka, and doesn’t treat her like a pawn in his game. And if she likes Vlad because he’s what she always imagined what a father would be like, well no one needs to know. Emma was off to Paris to find her family, and that was that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's been so long!!! I'll try to be better with getting new chapters out, it's been a busy past couple of months. So I know I didn't have Bartok in the first chapter, but he's honestly one of my favorite characters in the movie and I really enjoyed writing Rumple from his point of view. Hope you enjoy as well!!

_In the dark of the night, terror will strike her_

_In the dark of the night, evil will brew._

_Soon she will feel like her nightmares are real._

**St. Petersburg**

 

“May I present her Royal Highness, the Grand Duchess Emmeline,” echoes throughout the ballroom of the old palace and carries through the rafters. Sitting on one of the bracings where the wall and the roof meets, a small albino bat sits next to a tall glass object with green gas swirling inside. Bartok had been watching the proceedings below him with passive interest, not many things happened in the castle but he had grown used to the two men recently.

 

“Emmeline,” Bartok scoffs, “Just only one problem there, fella, Emmeline is dead. All the Romanoffs are dead. They’re dead, dead, dead, dead.” He watches the trio leave the ballroom, bickering softly amongst each other. Next to him, the reliquary glows a brighter green and smoky bat-like figures, minions, started to float into the air. One of them hovers next to the bat. “Am I right, my friend?” Bartok continues, “I mean, how could that be Emme…” he cuts himself off, realizing that he’d been talking to one of Rumpelstiltskin’s minions. They continued to float slowly out of the reliquary, a continuous cycle of them appearing and then fading away into the air. “Oh come on. Am I supposed to believe that thing woke up just because that guy claims she’s a Romanoff?” As if in answer to Bartok’s question, the reliquary glows brighter and shakes. Bartok was definitely spooked at this point. He always thought Rumple controlled the minions, not that they were self-thinking creatures. He didn’t like that idea. “Okay, okay! I get it. Enough with the glowing and the smoke people!” Bartok says and miraculously the reliquary calmed down. He takes another look down to the threesome below, now making their way up the stairs. “If that thing’s come back to life, that means Emmeline is alive,” Bartok comments, amazed.

 

“Just leave the dog.” “I am not leaving the dog.” Continued bickering floats up to Bartok.

 

“And that’s her!” Suddenly the reliquary takes off like a rocket, dragging the bat with it. It goes up towards the ceiling then suddenly nose-dives towards the floor. Bartok covers his eyes with his wings. “Woaahh,” he yells as the reliquary drags him through water. “Mayday, mayday,” he calls, and keeps yelling and screaming as he gets drags through soil then hot lava, finally breaking through the floor. The reliquary crashes into the floor of wherever they’ve landed, taking Bartok with him. “Oh boy. Wow, I’m saying wow,” Bartok says once he’s landed. Bartok looks around, it almost looks like a cave with stalactites and stalagmites growing from the ceiling and ground, and large rock columns and other formations surround him. As he sits up, he hears crashing and cursing before seeing the source of it.

 

“Who dares disturb my solitude? Get out, get OUT!” A yell carries through the room and is accompanied by more crashing. Bartok turns to look and gets hit with a thrown piece of rock, landing against a column with an umph. Next thing the bat knows he’s getting picked up none too gently. “Bartok? Is that you?” Bartok tries to take a few deep breaths and when his vision’s cleared, he sees Rumpelstiltskin peering down at him.

 

“Master? You’re…alive?” Bartok asks, trying to take in Rumple’s appearance. He was wearing his normal dark robes, and looked the same as he did when Bartok saw him crash through the ice 10 years ago. Rumple scoffs and picks up his beard, allowing Bartok to balance on it.

 

“In a manner of speaking,” Rumple answers, and as he does his right eyeball falls lazily out of his socket and into Bartok’s lap.

 

“Whoah, that fell right out there sir,” Bartok comments, looking up at Rumple.

 

“Something’s happened,” he mutters. He picks up the eye from Bartok and pushes it back in, hitting the side of his head with his hand to seemingly settle the eye.

 

“Oh yeah, whoopsie!” Bartok replies, thinking that Rumple is referencing his eye, not anything else. Rumple ignores him, intent on his pacing. Bartok manages to hold on to Rumple’s swaying beard, looking up at him.

 

“I knew it! I could feel the dark forces rising once more.” So that’s what he’s talking about. He should have just asked.

 

“That’s no wonder because I saw her sir. Emmelinne,” Bartok starts to explain but Rumple cuts him off.

 

“Emmeline? Alive?!” he exclaims, and as he does so his lips pop off his face and slide down his beard.

 

“Uh, sir, your lips, they’re…” Bartok stares at the lips moving, words coming out of them rather that Rumple’s head, but matching Rumple’s other facial expressions.

 

“That Romanoff brat!”

 

“Yeah ain’t that a kick in the head. I guess a good old curse isn’t what it used to be, uh sir,” he replies. He climbs up the beard to push his lips back in place. Rumple growls in rage and his hand grabs the bat.

 

“That’s way I’m stuck here in limbo,” he says, squeezing Bartok more and more as he talks. “My curse is unfulfilled,” Rumple finishes and goes to fling Bartok away from him. Instead, his whole hand gets thrown away from his body along with Bartok, hitting a wall and sliding to the floor. Undeterred, Bartok picks up the hand and starts to carry it back to Rumple, hearing moans of self-pity going on above him. “Look at me, I’m falling apart. I’m a wreck,” Rumple moans. Bartok finally makes it up to the table where Rumple is laying on, the hand next to him.

 

“Actually, considering how long you’ve been dead, you look pretty good sir,” Bartok says, trying to perk up Rumple’s spirits. He fails, as Rumple keeps crying and moaning next to him. “I mean it sir, you do, you really do.” Rumple removes the hand that’s covering his face.

 

“Really?” he asks, and Bartok can tell Rumple’s flattered by his comments.

 

“Is this the face of a bat who would lie to you sir?” Bartok asks, fluttering his eyes for good measure. “Come on, for a minute you had your old spark back.”

 

“If only I hadn’t lost the gift from the dark forces, the key to my powers,” Rumple mutters. Boy, did he need to work on communication, Bartok thinks as he hops off the table and makes his way through the rubble.

 

“What, this old thing?” Bartok asks, standing the reliquary up. Rumple’s eyes lit up.

 

“Where did you get that?” he asks, reaching eagerly for the reliquary.

 

“Oh, I found it,” Bartok starts to explain but gets cut off.

 

“Give it to me!” Rumple all but yells, cradling the glass object against his chest.

 

“Okay, okay, no need to be so grabby,” Bartok says under his breath, taking a step back. He watches Rumple stroke the reliquary as his eyes drift close.

 

“My old friend, back together again at last,” Rumple says, and laughs. “Now my dark purpose will be fulfilled, and the last of the Romanoffs will die!”

 

“Wow,” Bartok manages to say, watching Rumple. The minions start to re-appear out of the reliquary, eager to do Rumple’s bidding, and start to float their way up to the surface to wreak havoc on the unsuspecting girl.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, I am alive on this fic!! So I did change the way POV switches, reading over the previous chapters felt too clunky. I'll be getting a new chapter with the rest of the train scenes up as soon as I can, in the mean time, enjoy! Kudos and comments always appreciated!

_Come, my minions, rise for your master_

_Let your evil shine._

_Find her now, yes fly ever faster,_

_In the dark of the night, she’ll be mine!_

**Train Car**

Emma sits on one side of the train carriage, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. She stares idly out of the window, fiddling absently with her necklace as she watches the countryside move past them. They had left St. Petersburg earlier that day and they were heading east out of Russia, as far as she knew. Emma wasn’t sure exactly how they had tickets given the fact that she had needed an exit visa to get her own, but she had gotten an impression it wasn’t entirely legal. This was supported by the fact that it seemed as though Vlad was making their visas in the train right now, but as long as it got her to Paris, she was game. Emma smiles as she spots Vlad tickling Pooka, the dog sprawled out on the bench next to the rotund man. At least one of her companions appreciate her dog. She’s interrupted by her thoughts by Killian entering the carriage and seemingly making it his mission to invade her personal space as he put the last of the luggage on the rack above the seats.

 

Killian sighs as he lifts the suitcase up, last of too many. Why the hell does Vlad have so many clothes? He does realize that once they’re done with this gig, they’ll be able to buy as many new clothes as they could ever want? He turns to sit down opposite Emma, but before he can sit down, a growling sound comes from underneath him and he turns to see the dog taking up his seat. “Great, the mutt gets the window seat,” he grumbles under his breath, enduring Vlad’s chuckles. Why did the bloody dog have to like Vlad and not him? Not that he was jealous, no, no, definitely not. Just like he was definitely not jealous that Emma had warmed to Vlad and not him. There was only one other seat in the carriage, and that was next to Emma. He offers her a smile as he sits next to her, which she promptly ignores. This was going to be a long train ride.

 

Emma has to hold back the groan as she sees that Killian will have to sit next to her. She slumps back in her seat after Pooka stops him from sitting on him and steadily ignores his smile. He had been nicer since leaving the palace, almost too nice, and she almost preferred his blatant flirting over him trying to understand her. She wasn’t about to let him get over her walls, not when he was going to leave her the minute they got to Paris. This was a business transaction, nothing more. Emma went back to staring out the window, now ignoring Killian as she went back to fiddling with her necklace. “Stop fiddling with that thing,” she hears Killian tell her, and she huffs. One thing she can’t stand is people telling her what to do. “And sit up straight, remember, you’re a Grand Duchess,” Killian’s irritating voice continues. Just to irritate him, she slides down further in her seat.

 

“How is it that you know what Grand Duchesses do and don’t do?” Emma shoots back and Killian is getting ready to throw in the hat. This girl is purposefully doing things to irritate him. All he was doing was trying to help her to start acting like Emmeline, not some ragamuffin orphan, and she deliberately ignores him, does the opposite in fact.

 

“I make it my business to know,” Killian tells her pointedly and lets the subject drop at that. He wasn’t about to tell her his life story.

 

“Oh,” Emma replies. For a second, she thought she saw something behind Killian’s façade that she could relate to, but she lets that notion go. She isn’t going to go connecting with him, potential similar childhood or not and she starts fiddling with her necklace again. It’s her nervous tick, sue her. There’s silence in the carriage for a minute or so, and then of course Killian has to go and break it.

 

“Look, Emma, I’m just trying to help, alright?” Killian says as a way to make peace. He crosses his legs and angles his body towards Emma, his arm resting on the seat above her head. Emma hums next to him and Killian’s almost distracted. In any other situation, Killian would love to entertain the thoughts of interacting with Emma more intimately, shall we say. She’s feisty and independent, not to mention beautiful, and he’s sure she would be amazing in bed. But alas, he’s more of the one and done man when it comes to women, and they’re going to be on this journey together for a long time. It’s just physical attraction, it will wane and there will be plenty of beautiful women in Paris. He looks over to Vlad for help, maybe he can put his two cents in, since the girl likes him better. All Vlad does is roll his eyes and continues working on their visas.

 

“Killian?” Emma asks, sitting up and looking at him innocently. If there’s one plus to him being so annoying, it’s that she can continually one-up him in their banter. He hums and turns his attention back to her, and she has to blink and break her gaze away from his startling blue eyes or else she would lose her train of thought. She doesn’t need to be thinking about how that hum would feel against her skin, or the way those eyes would look peering up from between her legs. Stop it, she thinks and continues on with her question. “Do you really think I’m royalty?” she asks, perfectly setting him up.

 

“Of course I do,” Killian replies to her question, softening his tone of voice and opens his arms in what he hopes in a placating gesture. Honestly, he actually does believe this girl is the Grand Duchess Emmeline, but he doesn’t think he can ever tell her that. Vlad just thinks she bares a good resemblance, but there’s something in the back of his mind that is whispering that she’s the real deal. Emma smiles next to him, a secretive smug smile and he suddenly doesn’t like where this is going.

 

“Then stop bossing me around!” Emma shoots back firmly, putting in a tone of annoyance in her voice. Game, set and match, she thinks as Killian’s expression immediately goes confused and sour, as though he’s wondering how she got the upper hand. She decides to focus on her current win of their banter match, instead of the fact that he replied honestly to her question. Killian actually believes that she is the Grand Duchess, and Emma doesn’t know what to think of that. There’s obviously a reason why they’re looking to re-unite the Grand Duchess and her grandmother, and Emma suspects it’s money, but she doesn’t quite care. She’s more bothered that Killian thinks she’s the real Grand Duchess, Emma would almost be more comfortable in the fact that Killian was using her for a ruse. That she could be royalty, that her family is royalty and she’s grown up in a rotting orphanage her whole life, that’s something she can’t wrap her head around.

 

“She certainly has a mind of her own,” Vlad pipes in and she sees his eyes twinkle in enjoyment. He seems to like watching her and Killian go back and forth.

 

“Yeah, I hate that in a woman,” Killian replies sarcastically to Vlad, recovering from his slack expression to his go to smirk. He really doesn’t, prefers his woman to have their own independent thinking, but he’s just too annoyed at the fact that Emma had managed to one up him again. She's the only person who has been able to do that, and he finds himself torn with annoyance and appreciation.

 

Emma sticks her tongue out at him while Killian is looking at Vlad and goes back to looking out the window quickly as his head turns back to her. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Vlad switch papers on his lap and add a tally to a column under her name. He’s keeping score, she realizes and gloats internally at the fact that she’s crushing Killian, if the abundance of tallies under her name is anything to go by.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo....I'm still alive, to anyone still interested in this story (Sorry!!) Grad school really took away my free time. I can't promise anything except that the semester will soon be over and I may have more time to write for fun during the summer (fingers crossed). Anyway, thank you to everyone who reads this, we're picking up the trio about halfway through the train ride. Enjoy! <3

_In the end, I'd rather be standing at the beginning with you..._

**Later That Day**

 

Emma’s sitting by the window, reading a tour book on Paris the next time Killian comes in the compartment. She’s turned herself away from the door instinctively once she started to read, and is sitting stick straight at the edge of her seat. For as much as she was slouching earlier, Emma just couldn’t slouch when she read or wrote. It was as though some sense of proper etiquette had been drilled into her from before she could remember. She hears Killian clear his throat as he approaches, but she keeps her face straight and her eyes glued to the page, set on ignoring him.

 

Killian slides into the compartment after convincing Vlad to take the mutt for as much of a bathroom break one could get on a moving train and barely restrains a sigh or comment as he sees Emma sitting up straight near the window, remembering their tiff from earlier. In the one moment before she senses his presence, Killian spots a glimpse at the true woman that lingered barely under the surface of the hardened orphan. Emma sat straight without effort, almost like it was second nature for her to do so, and the way she held her book up in front of her face with her pinkies and pointer fingers extended, rather than on her lap, screamed of royalty. Even now, in her oversized coat and boots, Killian could see the duchess that Emma truly was. Finally, he clears his throat and sits down across from her. He waits for her to acknowledge him, but Emma keeps her gaze focused on her book.

 

“Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot,” Killian reluctantly offers up, his elbows on his knees. Emma finally lowers the book enough to peer around the side. At her gaze, Killian ducked his head and reached up with his right hand to scratch behind his ear, his nervous tick. Deciding to grant him a bone, they did have to live with each other until Paris, Emma meets him halfway with his apology.

 

“Well, I think we did too,” Emma starts.

 

“Okay,” Killian cuts in, clearly expected some sort of apology from her.

 

“But I appreciate your apology,” Emma finishes, not even stopping her sentence to let him talk more than one word. The thing was with Killian, the less you let him talk, the better. She lifts her book up to go back to reading, overall pleased with herself with the way she’s handling this. At the orphanage she was much more of a 'start fights than ends them' type girl.

 

Killian sits up, affronted. She needed to apologize to him, not the other way around. “Apology? Who said anything about an apology? I was just saying that we…” he actually wasn’t sure what he was saying, logically neither of them were in the right or wrong, but he did like to complain and rile up Emma.

 

Emma internally groans as he keeps talking and resists the urge to fling her book at his face. “Please, don’t talk anymore, okay? It’s only gonna upset me,” she said curtly, closing her book and setting it on the bench next to her. She was clearly not going to get any more reading done with Killian in the room. Even when he wasn’t talking, he was still a distraction. There were times when he dropped his cocky façade for a second that Emma saw the person she might be interested in getting to know underneath, but she knew better. Just get to Paris and he’ll be out of your life, she thought. Now that she had closed her book, her back was killing her from sitting up straight and she slouched into the chair.

 

“Fine. I’ll be quiet. I’ll be quiet if you will,” Killian combatted as he sat back in his chair. He realized how childish his words sounded as they left, but Emma didn’t fight him on it. She put her feet up on the bench next to him and crossed her arms over her chest, apparently done sitting up straight for the time being. She was regarding him with pursed lips but an amused twinkle in her green eyes. She was enjoying this as much as he was, Killian thought about their belligerent style of talking. Emma could deny it as much as she wants, but she likes this too.

 

Killian was being ridiculous, challenging her to a quiet contest, but somehow Emma couldn't help but accept. “All right, I’ll be quiet,” she acquiesces with a shrug.

 

“Fine.”

 

“Fine.”

  
“Fine.”

 

“Fine.”

 

Killian starts to say ‘fine’ again, warring with himself at letting her get the last word, but he realizes that she would keep going, and he was not stooping to that level of immaturity today. He grumbles as he shifts and slants his body slightly away from her. In truth, Emma was almost more dangerous when quiet, because he could forget all the things she said that just rubbed him the wrong way. Not that he wants to think about her rubbing him the right way, and god damn it, Killian steadied his mind and tried to think of something else.

 

Emma bit back a smile at being the one to get the last word, because really, how childish could the two of them be. In spite of that, she was having fun, in an odd sort of way. She angles herself slightly to look at the rushing landscape of snow-covered forest, and for the first time, really realizes she’s leaving Russia. It doesn’t feel like home to her, certainly not the orphanage, and the old palace in St. Petersburg came close but it was too deserted and she really didn’t want to think about why that old palace felt so familiar anyway. The silence builds between them, and it’s not truly awkward, there’s just so much tension of some sort between the two of them, and he’s looking so adorable with his bangs falling over and across his forehead, and stop that Emma. “Do you think you’ll miss it?” she asks, breaking their silence game probably before even two minutes had passed so her thoughts would go down the road of Killian looking adorable.

 

“Miss what, your talking?” Killian snaps, turning around to face her.  Emma must have heard him because she’s biting back a smile, but really, not even two minutes before one of them broke the silence?

 

Emma rolls her eyes at his response. It was definitely becoming hard to remember who was the oldest here, because that was a response she would have given at the orphanage. “No,” she said, drawing out the word. “Russia,” she supplies, waving her hand towards the window.

 

Killian snorts a laugh. “Nope,” he says succinctly. He refuses to look out the window, focusing on cleaning out his fingernails.

 

“But it was your home,” Emma pushes, leaning forward in her chair. She wasn’t sure why she suddenly wanted to know a little more about him, but sue her she did. Killian didn’t seem the sort to have been raised in an orphanage, he’s much too street smart for that. So he must have had family to keep him after the revolution, right?

 

“It was a place I once lived. End of story,” Killian replied curtly. St. Petersburg had stopped being his home the moment the Bolsheviks had thrown Liam out of the country. Hell, it had stopped the moment the Tzar and his family were taken from the palace, if he wanted to be completely honest with himself. Unfortunately for him, Emma was not taking the hint he wanted the conversation to end. Though, this was the longest conversation they have had without it ending in a fight.

 

“Well, then you must plan on making Paris your true home,” Emma asked, her slightly-younger eyes shining bright. Was he looking for a fresh-start in Paris as well?

 

“What is it with you and homes?” Killian asked, suddenly getting very frustrated with this line of questioning. The moment he asked, Emma stood up and he knew that this would be devolving into a fight once more. Just to antagonize her, he puts his feet on the bench across from him so she can’t easily get out.

 

“Well, for one thing, it’s something that every normal person wants,” Emma stressed the word ‘normal’ because she was back to thinking that Killian was not, “And for another thing, it’s a thing where you…where you,” she was going to stay feel loved, but that was too personal for Killian to hear. She starts kicking at his legs, but they remain motionless.

 

“What?” he asks, finding her attempts to get out of the conversation so very amusing. There was a small part of him that did want to know what she was going to say, watching Emma climb up on the bench and over his feet to get out of the compartment was more than compensating.   


“Oh, just forget it,” Emma huffs as she gets down off the bench. She’s really regretting her decision to even start this conversation in the first place. Right as gets to the floor, Killian stands up and she groans. Could he be even more insufferable?  


“Fine,” Killian says combatively, turning to stare out the window. Emma could be a true spitfire when she wanted to. At that moment, Vlad comes in through the door with the mutt, not knowing what he was walking into.

 

“Oh, thank goodness it’s you. Just please remove him from my sight,” Emma exclaims as she makes her way across the few feet to Vlad, pointing at Killian at the end. She has never been so happy to see someone in her life. As predicted, Vlad takes her side.

 

“What have you done to her?” Vlad asks Killian, and at the point he is visibly sulking, not knowing if she can see him. How dare she be able to turn Vlad from him too?

 

“Me? It’s her!” Killian exclaims, turning to face the two of them, his turn to point at Emma. She rolls her eyes at him and turns for the door.

 

“Hah,” she laughs humorlessly then huffs, throwing her arms up in the air. Emma storms out of the compartment, needing some fresher air and time away from Killian. God, he drives her up the wall. As she walks down the hallway, she hears Vlad ask,

 

“Oh, no. An unspoken attraction?” She almost turns around, if nothing else but to deny it, but continues with her original trajectory towards the front of the train car. She was going to murder Killian before they got to Paris, she was sure of it.

 

Vlad is talking to Pooka, holding up him in the air as he speaks his rhetorical question about their being attraction between the two young adults in his travel party. Of course there is, he could see it the moment Killian and Emma laid eyes on each other. If they could stay away from each other’s throats, there could be progress, but predictably, they were both too stubborn.

 

“Attraction? For that skinny little brat?” Killian almost yells in response to Vlad. He did not want to be thinking about Emma that way, he couldn’t. Knowing Vlad, he would try and meddle during the trip, which would make things worse. If he did choose to win Emma’s heart, he would do it by showing her the true him and without any trickery. “Have you lost your mind?” he asks Vlad, pushing him out of the way so he too could exit the compartment. Killian slides the door open as Vlad responds,

 

“I was only asking a simple question,” but it sounded like he was talking to the damn dog again. Killian started walking towards the back of the train car, grumbling about it being ridiculous that Vlad even entertained the idea that Killian would be attracted to Emma. He needed to get out of there and get some air and rum before Vlad said something that would make Killian say the truth he wasn’t even sure he recognized, that something in him was attracted to Emma’s very soul.


End file.
